


Mister Instinct

by lamardeuse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-13
Updated: 2010-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inevitable post-Mountie on the Bounty fic, with apologies to ee cummings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mister Instinct

 

 

It took me a while to come down from the adrenaline high of nearly dying fifty times and doing a hundred crazy things and making like Errol Flynn in _Captain Blood _and saving the environment for future generations, all in the same day. Once I did, though, I figured out something pretty important.

I reeked.

Moving downwind of Fraser--not that that made any difference, the guy would be able to pick up the smell of a fly fart if it was downwind in a hurricane--I muttered, "Man, I stink like something died. I need a shower and a change of clothes, pronto." I don't think the guy I'd stolen these duds from had bathed since disco died, and I hadn't improved the situation with all the running and jumping and sweating.

But Fraser didn't look worried, or even put off. He'd probably come across a herd of dead caribou one time, smelled worse than me. "I'm sure once we land we'll be able to--"

"You did not hear me, Benton buddy. Pronto means now."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, but since there are no hot water heaters on the ship, or even plumbing as you know it--"

"Excuse me? I am in desperate need, here, and you're telling me there's no shower?"

 

"Well, no, Ray," Fraser explained politely. "You see..." I tuned out the rest of the explanation, since I didn't need it, and I didn't want to hear that voice all prim and proper. After our little make-up session he'd gone right back to Constable Perfect Mountie again, showing me there were no hard feelings, everything was normal again, and wasn't that nice.

Which, of course, burned my muffins black.

Because God help me, even more than I wanted to get clean, I wanted the other Fraser back.

The guy who shouted in my face. The guy who let fly with the smartass comments about Mister Instinct.

The guy who racked that bad boy and shot like Buffalo Bill, onetwothreefour just like that

Jesus

he was a--

Shit.

The guy who sweated while I was plastered up against his back so close it wouldn't have been anything to lean forward and run my tongue over the short hairs on his neck and taste the salt--

Double shit.

I could still feel his mouth on mine, that's how screwy this was, because he was just trying to get some oxygen to my brain, only he ended up short-circuiting the fucking thing, and now all I could think about was maybe could we try it without the fish and the imminent threat of death?

Please?

Pretty please? With M&amp;M's on top?

Even that blonde, cute as she was, was a substitute. The red serge burned my retinas until I couldn't make out her face any more. I needed to kiss something, and she was handy, and she was wearing the right clothes. She was about to take off her hat, just before, but I stopped her. The full effect, right?

I sucked.

Then I caught an eyeful of Fraser making out with Jill Frost and I had to wonder if he was needing the same thing, and wasn't that weird and scary and--

I realized suddenly he was staring at me, and there was a little tiny hint of that attitude back in his eyes because he knew I hadn't been listening. The blue in them wasn't soft and blurry like the water, it was clear and sharp, like a Ginsu knife, could slice through tin cans, and damned if I wasn't hard in about zero seconds flat.

"Whatever the explanation," I said, taking it to him and poking him in the chest with one finger, "it still smells. And so do I. I do not wish to smell like lake trout for much longer than, say, about five minutes past now."

Fraser looked around. "I imagine we'll be back in the Sault by nightfall. I'll speak with the Inspector about arranging accomodations."

 

"Pardon me, Fraser, but shove that. If you talk to her, I'll be sleeping on the ground tonight, still stinking and also covered in bugs. I'll talk to the Lieu; a couple of bucks US should buy us a room at the Hilton."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Good," I said. "You're learning."

 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

"Oh, God, give it to me. Give it to me now."

Like a benediction, the water pounded down on every piece of me, scouring every molecule of sweat and dirt and fish and skanky criminal off my body until I felt halfway new again.

Of course, I thought as I watched everything disappear down the drain, part of that was him, too.

I caught myself standing there with two of my fingers sliding over my lips. Back and forth, back and forth, for I don't know how long, but my mouth felt raw when I finally let my hand drop.

"Jesus," I muttered, then took the bar of soap and scrubbed down my face.

 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

 

It wasn't like Welsh was going to spring for a place with little bottles of gel, so my hair was just gonna have to lie flat. I wiped the steam off the mirror and rubbed the towel over my head a few times until it looked rumpled and sort of sexy, like I couldn't care less about how I looked.

Like I'd just been laid. But good.

Huh. Should've jerked off in the shower when I had the chance.

Maybe talking him into sharing my room wasn't such a smart idea. But I knew he needed a hot shower and a soft bed as much as I did, never mind his bull about the restorative powers of the open air, and it was for damn sure that Thatcher wasn't going to pop for a motel. Not unless she could bunk in with him, of course.

Nah. She probably wouldn't have a clue what to do with him even then.

But I did.

Do not go there. Definitely do not go there.

I'd been awake two days, but it didn't matter, because I was jazzed, so far past tired I wasn't sure if I could remember how to sleep. Too bad they didn't seem to have heard of Magic Fingers here in the North Country, because there was no better way to slide off to dreamland than a nice, two-bit massage.

Well, there was one better way.

Stop it. Stop stopstop.

I wrapped a towel around my skinny ass and walked out of the bathroom, willing Ray Jr. to behave himself. If I was lucky, the Chinese we ordered would already be here and I could eat, then collapse into a coma for a good twelve hours.

But there was no smell of egg rolls and MSG, and no paper bags on the little table in the corner.

What there was...was Fraser.

Stripped down to a white undershirt and a pair of boxers.

He looked like a fucking snowdrift.

I wanted to dive into him and make snow angels. Stick out my tongue and taste every individual flake. Feel myself sink slowly as he melted under me.

Oh, man. I should not have turned down that transfer.

Towel, don't fail me now.

"Ray?" His eyes flicked over me, taking in my hair, my face, my neck, my chest, my everything, and the look in them, for a split second, it was like the sun had exploded five feet from me--

"Ray?"

"Yeah," I rasped. "Food's not here yet, huh?"

"No." He blinked, took a step forward, stopped. "Uh, if you're quite done, I think I'll--"

I waved a hand and moved to one side. "Sure, sure. Knock yourself out." I rolled my shoulders and forced a yawn. Maybe if I did that a few times I'd remind myself to be exhausted and actually get some sleep tonight.

Except when I opened my mouth wide, my jaw popped and the pain drove a hot spike through my skull. "Ow. Shit. Ow."

I moved my hand to feel my jaw, only it made contact with his hand instead, which was just making contact with my face--

My eyes flew open and he was close, close, his face covered in concern and regret and about ten other things I didn't want to put a name to. No, go away, let me--

Gentle fingers, so gentle they hurt worse than when they made a fist and punched me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"S'okay." I don't know how I managed to get the words out. "Still a little sore, that's all."

His fingers were moving, and they tickled and burned but I didn't pull away, I couldn't if my life depended on it, which I guess it did.

"That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do," he was saying, and I knew he wasn't talking about hitting me, he was talking about what it meant to hit me.

"Then why'd you do it?" I said, surprised at the hurt I could hear in my own voice.

He frowned, confused. "Because--that's what you wanted."

I frowned back. "It's what you wanted, too."

He stared at me for a few seconds, then he shook his head, slow, like he was stuck in Jell-o.

"No?" I bit out. His eyes shot up, and I realized he'd been looking at my mouth.

Oh, God.

"No."

His eyes weren't knives any more, they were two lakes, pulling me down under the surface, and fuck bloom and close, I wanted to drown.

"Then what? What did you want, Fraser?" My throat closed up, but I forced the words out anyway. "How did you see this buddy thing playing out?"

He opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. Then his hand moved from my jaw, slid down over my skin, raising a trail of goosebumps. When it reached my shoulder, I felt the fingers spread out and curve around the back of my neck. He didn't put any pressure on me, didn't reel me in, just let me feel him there, solid and warm, and waited for me to make up my own mind.

I was two inches away from kissing him when the knock sounded on the door.

Fraser jumped back as if he'd been Tasered and his hand left me.

"Shit," I said. "That's the Chinese."

He whirled around and picked up his pants. "No," I barked, knowing he needed some time alone to think. Hell, so did I. "Look, get your shower. I'll leave it in the bag, it'll still be hot when you come out."

He looked so grateful it was almost pathetic, and then with a quick, "Thank you," he practically ran into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

The knocking started again, louder this time.

"Yeah, right, I'm comin'," I yelled, snatching up my wallet and moving to the door.

Like I gave a damn about chicken fried rice anymore.

 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

By the time I heard the water stop, I was worried he'd escaped down the drain. I wouldn't put it past him to figure out a way to squeeze through a two-and-a-half inch pipe.

Food was probably no better than lukewarm, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except how we were going to fix this.

How _I _was going to fix this. Because it was all down to me, in the end. I was sure he wouldn't make a move without my say-so; he just wasn't the type. He was the type who waited. Hold open the door, after you, ma'am. No, you take the cab, I insist. Have a lovely day.

But how long had he been waiting for this? The idea he'd been sitting around in his snowdrift undershirt, late at night in the Consulate, thinking about the two of us getting all hot and sweaty...well, what did that mean, exactly? How did it fit in to this duet that we almost burned to crap?

Hell, I didn't know. I didn't even know I wanted him until he did that buddy breathing thing.

No, it was before that. It was on that dock, in the dark, listening to him rap that fairy tale of the Robert MacKenzie. When he tells stories like that, and I don't mean the stories about Ned the polar-bear- humping Innuit trapper, but stories about the Big Things, he floats up, up and away to a whole other plane of existence. And damn it all, he takes you with him, until you believe in fairy tales again.

And before you know it you're drowning and flying and rappelling down freakin' ropes and you tell yourself it's because you're fighting for the Big Things too, but it's not only that. You'd go anywhere for him, do anything to be beside him, so that you can fucking _bask_ in him like a lizard on a hot rock. In the end, that's the real reason you're there, no matter how much you want to believe otherwise. And when I realized he still had that black-hole gravity, that he could still pull me right down into hell itself if he wanted, I knew I was doomed.

The minute I decide he's doing that on purpose, I'll run as fast as I can and never look back. But I don't think he knows he has that kind of power. He thinks it's just because he's convinced you that Right and Justice and Clean Underwear will triumph over evil.

Speaking of underwear, I figured I should put some on. I grabbed up the bag of cheap clothes we'd bought at the local department store: underwear, socks, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt each. I took everything but the t-shirt, reasoning it was stupid to put the clothes on and then take them off again twenty minutes later. Which didn't explain the jeans, but that fell into the 'let's make Ray's hard-on less obvious' theory of clothing, and it was equally valid, so there.

Who said I couldn't do logic?

The bathroom door opened and Fraser walked out with one towel around his hips and another one draped around his shoulders. Covering up as much skin as possible. I guess that was my answer.

That was good, that was supposed to be good. So why was I so disappointed?

He kept coming, then moved to sit at the table. He wasn't--

"You can put on some clothes if you want," I heard myself say.

His big hands were already tearing at the bag. His eyes lifted to my face for a sec, then went back to the green and red cardboard containers he was uncovering. "Nonsense, Ray. You've been waiting long enough for me."

Shit, have I ever. Feels like I've been waiting my whole miserable life.

Quit that.

"Uh, okay then. Hand over the plum sauce when you find it."

I passed out the styrofoam plates while Fraser bitched and moaned about the environmental impact, until I reminded him that we'd done our bit for environmental impact today, and that was worth a couple of plates, so kindly shut the hell up already. He nodded and gave me a small 'you win' smile that I felt all the way down to my cock, and that was it for the conversation for a while, because the smell of the food was making me shake with hunger. At least that's what I told myself it was.

We ate like Dief chugging down donuts, and it was almost normal, him and me eating together like we'd done a hundred times before. I spent way more of my free time with him than I had with any other partner, and now I knew why, I supposed it probably would be a smart idea to back off some. Give us both some space to work out that logic-instinct mix. We couldn't do that if we were constantly in each others' back pockets, right?

Right. Sure. I tried to imagine me in my apartment on a Saturday night, eating stale pizza alone and wishing I'd had the guts to--

Mister Instinct. Like hell.

I shot up out of my chair without any idea of where I was going to go after that.

He looked up at me, his blue eyes shadowy and murky, like the bottom of that damned lake.

"You done?" I asked, gesturing at his plate.

He nodded, holding the plate out to me. I collected it and stuffed it in the bag along with the empty containers, then went outside to dump it in the trash.

The night air was cool against my bare chest, and for the first time in five years I craved a cigarette like nobody's business. Sure, I'd had cravings, but not like this one, not burrowed so deep in your gut you don't know how you ever survived this long without one.

God, it had been so long since I'd felt this sweet, sweet ache. With Stella, the last couple of years were just ache, no sweetness.

They sold cigs in the hotel lobby. I could walk fifty yards for a Camel, or I could walk ten feet and go for what I was really craving.

Both were equally dangerous to my health, but something told me that being high on Fraser would beat the hell out of nicotine.

Let's go, Mister Instinct. Put your money where your autonomic response is.

Yeah, I know a few big words. They just don't always come out right.

I shook out my arms and legs, then went back inside.

It was nearly dark in the room now, the only light an orangey glow coming from one of the bedside lamps. Fraser was lying in the bed, the covers drawn up to the bottom of his ribs. The angry light doused his smooth, broad chest, lapped up against his thick arms, and trickled over his face. From there, it got sucked into the blackness of his hair and disappeared.

He was lying in the bed, but he wasn't asleep. He was lying on his side, with one elbow propping him up. Lying there waiting for something, like always.

God. God.

He was waiting for me.

His gaze found mine, caught it, and I could feel that pull over every square inch of my skin.

My feet started moving again, but if you want to know who was moving them, well, that's a tricky question to answer. I felt my knees bump up against the edge of the bed, and then he was holding out a hand and I took it and he was pulling for real, not waiting anymore, and Jesus, I didn't think I could get any hotter than I already was but that did it. As he toppled me, he did a quarter roll so he was flat on his back and our chests came together, heat against heat, and the shock of it nearly killed me before I got to know what he tasted like.

And wouldn't that have been a real shame, because now I understood why Fraser likes to put his tongue everywhere. Taste was a very underrated sense. I wondered if I could become an expert in Fraser's flavours like he was an expert in toxic waste. In my opinion, it would be a much more worthwhile friggin' pursuit.

Right now I wouldn't have been too good at guessing individual ingredients, though, because what I was doing--what we were doing--took out every one of my higher brain functions like the shots from Fraser's gun. Bang, bang, bang, bang. I wouldn't have been able to tell arsenic from butterscotch ripple, because that would have required me to process concepts more advanced than 'good' and 'more' and 'oh fuck, yes.' We'd have to save the science lesson for a time when I wasn't completely horny.

Although the idea of not being horny anytime my tongue was diving toward Fraser's tonsils was pretty hard to imagine at the moment, too. In fact, not being horny anytime Fraser was within fifty feet of me was getting harder and harder to picture.

Speaking of harder...I shifted my hips, which were half on and half off his, and felt him jab into my belly and groan into my mouth, and wasn't that special. His hands, which had been roaming over my back up til now, decided to move lower, and then they were gliding and pressing and gripping my ass until I returned his groan in the spirit of giving.

He broke away from me with a gasp. "Ray--Ray," he said, and his hands were pushing at my hips. I lifted up, and he reached for the fly of my jeans.

Oh, boy. This was real.

Or was it? Something he said earlier started zipping around inside my skull and wouldn't leave.

_Because--that's what you wanted._

I couldn't think. My two ounces of logic went bye-bye five minutes ago. It didn't make perfect sense, but then how else did you explain Fraser horny for me? I mean, come on.

Not believing I was doing it, I reached down and stopped his hand with mine. "Wait a minute. Hold on."

He got that lonely little boy look in his eyes, like he did when I hit him, and then they slammed shut. "Please," he whispered. "Please don't--"

"Just, look, I'm not freaking, I'm not, but I need to know something, all right?" He nodded, but didn't open his eyes, and I took a deep breath. "Are you going along with this here? Going with the flow?"

He opened his eyes at that, and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, is this something you really want, or just something you think I want. Because I want you to know you don't have to do this to keep me, to get me to stick with it."

"Are you saying--"

I was still talking. "'Cause, you know, the thing is, it's not such a big deal. Because I can't not stick with it, Frase. I can't stay the fuck away, okay? I'm hooked. I'm addicted. No choice."

"That's not true," he said quietly. "We always have choices."

I shook my head. "Not with you I don't. I figured that out on this one. You've got this gravity you don't even know you have, and I'm way over the, the whaddayacallit, the event horizon, right? I'm past the point of no return."

He reached up with his other hand, and it was shaking, and didn't that beat all, because I was the lizard lying in that sun, right, only the sun was rattling in the sky. His fingers stroked over my face the way mine had over Stella's on our wedding night, and all of a sudden there was no air in the room.

"So am I, Ray," he whispered, his eyes open and raw and pleading and the blue in them was sky, no limits, no end, not a fucking cloud anywhere. "So am I."

I stared at him, and I must've looked pretty goofy, because his face broke out in one of those blinding grins, and he started laughing, like he did on the boat only deeper, and I had to kiss him then, but not on the mouth, hell no, I didn't want to stop that laugh just yet. So I went for his jaw and his ear and his neck and then my tongue got interested too--lots of tasting opportunities, here, let's get cracking--and that stopped the laughing for the time being and started the groaning again.

Which was also fine with me.

But still, my brain kept kicking in now and then, letting me know it wasn't totally gone, just on holiday for a while, and it was telling me some major shit happened here, so pay attention for a sec. I pulled my tongue off him and pushed myself up on my elbows. "You mean--you mean you're addicted to _me_?" I asked. Not a bad question, but that squeak in my voice would have to go.

He looked at me, and I had one hundred and ten percent of that intense Mountie attention, and if it was cool when he had all his clothes on, it was a-fucking-mazing when he was naked and touching me. "Yes, Ray," he said, seriously. He knew this was important, knew I needed to hear it, and that ripped me up inside, it did. "Don't you know how addictive you are?"

I shook my head, and looked away, which was hard to do when he was filling my vision, so I focused on his left shoulder. "No, I, ah, I kinda figured I was annoying."

"Oh, you are," he said, nice as you please.

My eyes flipped back to his face while my guts nose-dived for my shoes. "Great, thanks, great." I began to push myself off him, but in a flash he had his arms tight around me and before I could blink I was flat on my back, pinned under warm heavy Fraser.

"Let me finish," he growled.

Growled. My dick perked up in spite of everything. I was hopeless.

He leaned over me and planted one on my chin. "You are annoying. I thought so from the first day I met you. You were forward, and you were presumptuous, and you were rude, and you kept _touching me_, and then you took a bullet for me--"

"I was wearin' a vest--"

He took my mouth fast and hard. "Shut up, Ray."

I shut.

"I realized that though I had no idea who you were, I wanted to know. I wanted to know who this--this whirlwind was." He smiled down at me. "I found out all I could about you, about your career, but you weren't an easy man to get to know personally."

I had to shake my head at that. "I am an open fuckin' book, Frase. My spleen is on my sleeve."

"You are, in some ways. You don't appear to hold anything back, whether you're questioning a suspect or seeking attention from Stella--"

"Ouch, buddy."

"--who isn't worth another instant of your time, but I'm digressing."

My heart sped up. "Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why is she not worth my time?"

He stared into my eyes and closed the distance between us slow, slow, slow, and when he talked this time I could feel every word against my lips.

"Because. She. Let. You. Go."

And then he kissed me again, deep and wet and long and I never wanted him to stop, but he did, and I made a noise between a whimper and a sob. I didn't know I could make a noise like that.

"As I was saying," he murmured, but I noticed his voice was shaky now, score one for me, "while some of your thoughts and emotions are obvious to even the casual observer, a closer study reveals you are not the 'open book' you claim to be. Many was the time I wished you were. Because I knew you were lonely," he whispered. "And I knew you were--unsure of yourself, because of your divorce. But I didn't know how to help you."

His fingers slid over my lips, right where my own fingers were feeling for a trace of him earlier. "And I wanted to. I wanted to help you so badly."

I sank a hand into his thick black hair, and Christ, that was a lot better than punching him. "You did. You did, Frase. Maybe you didn't always know what to say, but that wasn't important. You bein' there--that meant a lot to me. With Levon, you were always at my back."

He snorted. "Insisting you do your duty, even though I knew it hurt you."

"That's what I needed," I told him. "I needed to use my head, not my heart." I chuckled. "My heart never was good for much anyway."

"Don't say that," Fraser snapped, and I stared up at him, surprised as hell by the angry look in his eyes. "Your heart is your greatest asset." He pushed up so he could spread a hand over my chest, and I sucked in a breath. It felt like he was touching it. "I've never known anyone who gives it so freely. You give, and you give, and you give it, and it comes back to you bruised and bleeding, but you keep giving it--" His voice broke. "And God forgive me, though I know it might hurt you, I want it. I want you to--"

"Christ, Jesus, Fraser, shut up, shut up," I growled, pulling him onto me, over me, yanking his head close so I could kiss him and keep kissing him.

We were wild then, clawing and biting and pushing against one another, as if we were tryin' to burrow our way inside. Too late, I thought, too late, you're already inside, never gonna get you out of me--

But I don't want to.

Fraser lifted his head, and his lips were battered and swollen. "Don't want to what?"

I shook my head and drew his hand down to my jeans. "Don't want to stop."

He had me out of my clothes in about half a second, and hell, I'd still been wearing my shoes. Then he lay there with his chest heaving and just looked at me. At least in the orange light I didn't look so pale. I reached for him, but he took my arms by my wrists and pressed them into the bed on either side of me, and I got the message.

He looked and looked and it was unbelievable, but that open sky gaze on my skin was turning me on more than anyone's hands or mouth or combination thereof ever had. I felt the pull of those eyes everywhere, my face, my nipples, my stomach, my balls, and I was sweating just from trying to stay still. Finally I couldn't take it any more, and who was that stranger begging for Fraser to touch him? What was his name again?

Fraser moved then, his hands landing on mine where they lay on the bed, his mouth--God, his mouth--diving down and swallowing my leaking cock in one go. I bowed up off the mattress, buried myself in his throat and came with a yell that shook plaster off the ceiling.

He took it all, took all of me, and then he was climbing up me and wrapping me in this fierceness I always knew was there, only I never dared to hope it would be covering me someday, seeping into my fucking pores...

"God. Frase. God." I stuck my nose in the side of his neck. "I don't think you're gonna want this heart, 'cause the next time you do that it's gonna stop for good."

He tilted my head up and kissed me a couple of times, soft and slow, and I could taste...me. Jesus.

"I still want it, Ray. More than anything."

I raised my eyebrows at him, then without any warning, tickled him in the ribs. He let out his breath in a surprised _whoosh_ and he let go of me just enough so I could get some leverage and flip him over.

"What about me, huh? What do I get?" I ground out. I gave him a little twist of the hips, like dancing, and he moaned long and low. God, he was still hard and huge and aching for it. For me.

I brought my face closer to his, but not so close I couldn't see every change on his beautiful mug. "'Cause I think you're right about this giving business--I figure next time I let this ol' heart go it'd be a good idea to ask for something in return. Kind of like a security deposit, y'know?"

He was panting now, but he nodded. "Yes. I understand, Ray."

I leaned in and bit him lightly on the chin. "Whadda you think would be a fair exchange?"

"I--I think you should demand nothing less than equal compensation."

Beats me how he was able to produce big words like that when he was a half inch from coming, but if anybody could manage it, it'd have to be him. Well, I was going to make him beg for it, big words or small, didn't matter. "Oh yeah? Does that mean you're offering?"

"No."

And that derailed the Streetcar Named Desire faster than an A-bomb. "What?"

"I can't, Ray."

Oh shit oh shit--he was, we were _here_ and now he was telling me this? I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

And then he got this look in his eyes, and it was, fuck the metaphors, it was love, it was love, I didn't know it could look like that, it was--_more_\--than I'd ever seen, but I recognized it on instinct, because I am Mister Instinct--

"I can't give you what you already have," he said, plain and simple.

I kissed him so hard I was eating him, and he gave it back to me, tongues and teeth and lips and breath and spit and stubble, and after about five seconds or maybe five hours he pulled away and begged with those incredible eyes and I was gone, over the line and squashed flat by that gravity, but I didn't care. I started kissing my way down his body, but he stopped me just as I got to his bellybutton.

"Please," he moaned in between short, sharp gasps. "You--your hands. I've imagined--your hands."

And oh man, that jacked me up all over again. I grinned up at him and raised my right hand so that the palm was an inch from his mouth. He stared at it crosseyed for a sec, and then his face went all wild and knowing, and that fucking sinful tongue pushed past his lips and licked my hand from wrist to fingertip in one long, wet swipe.

I let out a groan, then wrapped my hand around his gorgeous dick and started moving, setting a steady pace I hoped would blow his brains out. I glanced up at him, and he was staring down at my hand like he was hypnotized, and the next thing I knew my other hand was jerking my own cock in a sweet counterpoint to the way I was doing his. He sucked in a ragged breath, almost a sob, and now his eyes were on me, then back to him, as if he couldn't decide which sight was hotter.

I decided for him when I leaned over and stretched my lips over the head of him. His hips pistoned, once, twice, and he howled, and I pulled back to watch him shoot all over himself and me and the bed. The taste and the sight and the sound and the smell of him finished me off, and I followed right behind him, joining my come with his, then collapsing beside him.

I lay there for a couple of minutes like a gutted caribou, no strength left in me to even twitch. I felt him breathing hard beside me and knew he was as knocked out as I was, and wasn't that a kick in the head.

"That was--" he whispered, "--that was--"

"Yeah," I agreed. Warm fingers closed around mine and squeezed, and my eyes got prickly all of a sudden as everything caught up with me, what we said, what we did...

This was hugeness, here. I mean, okay, I'm Polish and Polish men don't sweat too much about a couple of tears, hell, I cried when I asked Stella to marry me. But here was the scary part: I knew even if he changed his mind tomorrow and called it off, there was no way I could go back now. I'd cling. I'd stick. He'd have to have surgery to remove me, like a tumor.

Yeah, it wasn't exactly healthy. So what?

What really busted my hump was that I never thought I'd feel that way about anyone again.

My vision started to get misty. Breathe, Kowalski, breathe.

I looked up and there he was, floating over me, a worried frown making the skin between his eyebrows wrinkly. I resisted the urge to smooth him out.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just--give me a sec, okay?"

He nodded, but he didn't move away. His blue, blue eyes roamed over my face and stopped when they caught the glint in my eyes.

Instead of looking more worried, though, his face cleared, like he got it, and he was happy I was close to bawling. What a freak.

His hands bracketed my face and gently, softly, his thumbs touched the outside corners of my eyes and soaked up the wetness about to spill over my eyelashes. Then he drew his hands away and stared at them for a few seconds, like I'd just given him the Northwest Areas wrapped up in a silver bow for his birthday.

He cleared his throat then and sat up. "I'm going to get another shower. Would you care to join me?"

I took a deep breath, let it out. Wiped the back of my hand across my eyes. "Yeah. I'd like that."

And this time, when I stood under the water and wanted to remember the feel of his mouth, I could have the real thing to refresh my memory. And when I shut off the water, he didn't wash away, didn't disappear down the drain.

And later, when the lights were out, I kissed his closed eyelids and tasted salt.

Maybe, I thought, as my arms went around him and wrapped him in fierceness, maybe this logic-instinct thing would balance out after all.

  


**Author's Note:**

> First published April 2003.


End file.
